


1. The Shepherd (first kiss)

by MxGryffindorOtaku



Series: Pride Month 2k18 [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, My Subtle Hatred Of My 11th Grade English Class, Poetry, Pride Month 2k18, Pride Month Prompt Challenge, teenagers being teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 04:31:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14825285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxGryffindorOtaku/pseuds/MxGryffindorOtaku
Summary: Sometimes poetry gets to you. It's ok to let it.





	1. The Shepherd (first kiss)

**Author's Note:**

> It's still the first of June somewhere!  
> Happy Pride Month, you gay mofos! Enjoy the first of THIRTY Stony fics I'm writing for a Pride Month Prompt Calendar that I found on Tumblr! (I'll link it if/when I find it again!)  
> I didn't give this to a beta because they're all asleep, so tell me if I messed anything up too bad! :)

Steve had never been particularly fond of his English class.That isn’t to say that he disliked English as a subject- he was, in fact, one of the few people in the entire school who even  _ read _ their assigned books-  but he detested the class he was being forced to take. He had planned on taking seminars, but the junior year schedule got roundhouse kicked in the head, then judo flipped onto its ass. Long story short, he was going to have to take, like, five English classes senior year.

Which sucked. The whole situation sucked, actually.

The only thing that  _ didn’t _ suck was that his class was filled to the brim with some of his absolute favorite people. And though Steve himself would  _ never _ be an asshole in class, he appreciated how much his friends antagonized their poor teacher. It was amusing. Natasha would contradict and argue with their professors every passage-analysis and Thor had this way of speaking that pissed him off to absolutely no end. Clint would interrupt and comment on everything and Bruce would make silly faces at everyone until they laughed out loud.

But the worst by far was Steve’s best-friend-turned-boyfriend, Tony Stark. He would argue and sass and talk and pull faces and more. He was the king of the chaos and it was wonderful to watch. To be a part of sometimes, too. Like the times when Tony would pull faces at Steve across the table, silently challenging him to a game of almost-chicken. Who could go the longest without laughing out loud. The number of times Steve lost to Tony was uncountable, but he was convinced that it was only because Tony could do that creepy thing where he  _ shook his eyes. _

Sometimes, the others might play, sometimes they wouldn’t. But the fact of the matter was, Tony was the only one who could get Steve to act up or break out laughing in class. Tony was, after all, the king of the chaos.

But today they didn’t clown around or make each other laugh or sass or argue. None of them did. They were reading poetry and it was decidedly better than anything they’d done so far in the year. There were no assignments attached to it and there were no discussions surrounding it. It was just… poetry.

Natasha was reading Emily Dickinson's  _ Hope is the thing with feathers _ at the request of their professor and the whole room was silent save for her words. Steve had always thought that Natasha had a nice voice. Crisp and quiet, tinted with hints of her barely-still-there-accent. She excelled at reading poetry.

“Hope is the thing with feathers / That perches in the soul, / And sings the tune without the words, / And never stops at all,  
“And sweetest in the gale is heard; / And sore must be the storm / That could abash the little bird / That kept so many warm.  

“I’ve heard it in the chillest land, / And on the strangest sea; / Yet, never, in extremity, / It asked a crumb of me.”

When she was done, the whole class applauded, just as they had when the other poems they’d read were done. She sat down quick and shot their teacher a look, quietly begging him to move on. Whether he got the message or not, he did move on. “I think we have time for… one more poem? Yes, let’s do one more and then I’ll let you out for lunch early.” He thumbed through his little book of poems for a moment before he found one he liked. “Oh, here we go, this one’s nice, yes, I like this one. Steven? Why don’t you read this one for us Steven?”

Steve ignored the cheeky grins of his classmates and said, “Sure, I’d love to.” They’d probably all call him Steven the rest of the day. The poem was Christopher Marlowe’s  _ The passionate shepherd to his love _ and Steve really didn’t think his heavy tongue and stuttered breath did its beauty justice. “Come live with me and be my love, / And we will all the pleasures prove / That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, / Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

“And we will sit upon the rocks, / Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, / By shallow rivers to whose falls / Melodious birds sing madrigals.

“And I will make thee beds of roses / And a thousand fragrant posies, / A cap of flowers, and a kirtle / Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;  
“A gown made of the finest wool / Which from our pretty lambs we pull; / Fair lined slippers for the cold, / With buckles of the purest gold;

“A belt of straw and ivy buds, / With coral clasps and amber studs: / And if these pleasures may thee move, / Come live with me, and be my love.

“The shepherds’ swains shall dance and sing / For thy delight each May morning: / If these delights thy mind may move, / Then live with me and be my love.”

There was an odd kind of silence that rang in his ear as the class applauded his little performance. His heart was racing for some reason and his mind dragged his eyes down the table to Tony. Tony, who was staring at him with this wide-open, unguarded, adoring look, face pink and eyes big. Steve’s heart-rate picked up and he looked down, tracing the juvenile carvings on the table with his thumb, a tiny smile fighting its way across his lips.

The teacher dismissed them, there was a collective leap for the door, and then the classroom was quiet and empty. Steve found Tony standing just outside the doorway, waiting for him. Their friends were stomping down the hallway, headed up to lunch and making a ruckus. It didn’t seem like they were planning on waiting for either of them, but neither of them really minded.

Because Tony was still looking at Steve with his eyes blown wide and Steve’s poor heart was still doing somersaults and backflips and nose-dives. They stood there a moment, staring at each other, and Steve’s eyes sunk down to Tony’s lips and stayed there for a heartbeat too long. “Hey,” he was able to say after he finally managed to refocus on  _ all _ of Tony’s face.

But Tony didn’t say anything, just  _ rushed him _ and suddenly his hands were on Steve’s chest and his neck and his cheek and in his hair and  _ who cared about that when Tony was kissing him?! _

And oh.

Oh  _ god. _

Tony was kissing him.

Tony was kissing him and everything was on fire and it was a little bit clumsy and it kind of hurt where their teeth crashed and Tony’s glasses were in the way of everything, but it didn’t even matter because Tony was kissing him and he was kissing Tony back and everything was wow wow wow wow.

And when they finally slipped apart, Steve discovered that his arms had wrapped around Tony’s waist and he let them stay there because it felt good and right and just a little bit silly.

“Asshole,” Tony whispered, dragging his fingers through the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck. “Our first kiss was supposed to be on  _ my _ terms. You weren’t supposed to seduce me with poetry. That wasn’t the plan.”

_ Our first kiss… _ “Sorry, beautiful,” was all Steve could think to say, still a little bit dizzy and always a lot a bit teasing.

“Oh, you’ll make it up to me somehow,” Tony decided, tucking himself underneath Steve’s chin (Steve could feel the heat of his face against his chest and he smiled). “I’m thinking a fine wool gown and some random-ass golden buckles. What do you think?”

“‘If these delights thy mind may move…’”

“And a bed of rose petals, Steve. One of those, too.”

“Anything for you, beautiful. Absolutely anything.”

**Author's Note:**

> Whether you loved it or you hated it, make sure to comment or leave me a kudos! :)  
> And come hang out with me on Tumblr: @mx-gryffindorotaku !


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